


Lucky Streak

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: First Dates, Inappropriate Use of Citadel Water Treatment System, M/M, Two Full Moons, shinanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: There's no such thing as an ordinary date for these two badasses.





	Lucky Streak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellebeedarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebeedarling/gifts).



> A treat for Ellebeedarling.

“What the hell are we doing here, Shepard?” Zaeed tugs at the tight suit collar around his neck, wondering how the hell people manage to wear these get-ups without strangling themselves. Or someone else, for that matter.

“It’s called a date, Massani. Surely you’ve been on one before, even if it was in a time when dinosaurs roamed the earth—”

“Hey! Shut it, Junior.” Zaeed gives Shepard a playful smack on the ass. He leans close and murmurs in his ear, “Didn’t hear any grousing about my age last night.”

Shepard grins widely at the other man. “No. You did not.” He nudges him in the ribs. “Come on. Our table’s ready.”

Zaeed admires the straight back and tight ass underneath the formal suit jacket as he follows Shepard through the crowded restaurant. He notes the many heads that turn to watch their progress to the far back and a secluded table along a row of windows that look out over the Presidium. The host bows and hands them menus the size of a krogan’s backside. “ _Bon appetit_ , gentlemen.”

He rolls his eyes over the pretentiousness of the menu. “Coulda just gone to that pub down in Zakera, Shep.”

“Yeah, but how many times will I be able to wine and dine you on Cerberus’ dime? Not much longer, probably. Besides, it’s about time we had a proper date—” Zaeed snorts at that, but lets him continue, “--seeing as how we’ve been fucking each others brains out for the last couple of months.”

_Fifty-six days, actually. But don’t you bloody well believe I’m keeping count._

A bevy of wait staff arrive before Zaeed can reply: a sommelier to take their wine order, someone to describe the specials, a waiter to take their food order, someone else who brings the wine and corks it. It’s a whirlwind for five minutes and when the dust finally settles around them, he looks up to see Shepard watching him with a certain glint in his eye that Zaeed’s not quite sure he likes the look of.

“The hell are you looking at?”

The other man shrugs. “Never let ‘em see you sweat.”

“Wha’d’ya mean?”

“I bring you here, make you wear the sexiest outfit that you obviously hate, get a bunch of people to fawn all over you. I can tell you’re quietly seething inside--don’t lie, you get this tic over your eyebrow when something’s really pissing you off--and yet on the outside, you’re as cool as a cucumber.” He leans forward and speaks lower. “It’s fucking sexy as hell.”

He’s not sure what to do with that. Compliments come sideways from Shepard most days. Being hit straight on with one makes him feel a little off-kilter, like a sudden surge of vertigo. But never let it be said Zaeed Massani can’t take a compliment with what little bit of grace he can muster. He raises his glass in a toast, “Well then, here’s to sexy fucking.”

Shepard barks a laugh and raises his own glass. “To sexy fucking.”

The quality of the wine is probably lost on him, his taste buds not being what they once were what with the nerve damage and his smoking habit, but it tastes fine enough. He sets the glass down and tries not to notice the awkward silence that settles over the table. Shepard’s joke notwithstanding, it’s been a long time since he’s been on what anyone would call a proper date. His usual off-color remarks and gruesome stories probably aren’t the best dinnertime conversation for a place like this. He turns his head and looks out over the lakes down below, sparkling in the simulated sunshine. He huffs a laugh at a memory. “Went skinny dipping in those goddamn lakes once.”

Shepard chokes on his wine. “You--What?”

“Got barred from the Citadel for a full year. Totally fucking worth it.” He looks back at Shepard, grinning ear to ear. “Did it on a dare. Tossed onto the first ship off the station in a pair of borrowed skivvies and not much else.” He winks. “That’s how I met this certain asari.”

“The ‘Sold You Out to the Blood Pack’ asari?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Several emotions cross Shepard’s face: confusion, curiosity, suspicion. “Go back to this skinny dipping business. Because I’d pay to see that.”

He counts off on his fingers, “It was me, this old krogan--older than God, he was, a batarian and two turians. At some bar down on the lower Bachjret ward. Got into an argument about how deep the water is. Might have had a few too many drinks, now that I think about it. So we all took bets and I dropped trou since no one else seemed to have the goddamn balls to do it.” He laughs. “Fully expected to wade in to my knees, but bloody hell if it wasn’t more than twenty meters deep. Didn’t go all the way down to find out. Lost that bet, fair and square.”

Shepard rolls his eyes and leans his chin on his hand. “When was this?”

Zaeed screws his eyes up, counting off years. “Maybe...six, seven years ago—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” He taps his finger on the table. “Are you telling me that you, Zaeed Massani, a grown man, who obviously should have known better, went skinny dipping here, on the Citadel, six years ago?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“And got kicked off the Citadel for a year.”

He has a moment of regret for bringing it up. It had been a blockheaded thing to do at the time. He ducks his head, briefly embarrassed at his not-so younger self. “Like I said. Had to have my stuff shipped to Omega. Had a helluva time getting my armor back, can tell you that much.”

Shepard’s eyes narrow as he looks him over in what seems to be a new appreciation. “I’ll be damned…” he says softly, a bit husky with desire. Zaeed changes his mind about having brought it up.

Food is brought and distracts them both from the topic. He doesn’t think anything more about it until much later, walking back to the ship. He loosens the collar on the suit, breathing deep through a pleasant haze of wine and brandy and food far too rich for his blood. He doesn’t really notice where they are until Shepard steers him toward the quiet glass of the Presidium lake.

“Last one in buys the condoms.”

“What?” He glances over. Shepard has already kicked off his shoes and is unbuttoning his jacket. “Shepard, you’re not bloody serious.”

“I _am_ bloody serious. Come on, old man. Or are you too old? Or chicken. You’re probably chicken.”

“Goddamnit, Shepard—”

Shepard tosses the jacket aside, working at the buttons of his sleeves. “At this rate, you’re gonna be springing for an entire crate of prophylactics, Massani.”

“Shit—” What the hell is it about this kid? He tugs at the jacket, yanking off several buttons in the process. To hell with the fucking suit.

Shepard laughs, skipping as he pulls off his socks, half running toward the water. Zaeed follows the trail of clothes; is hit in the face with Shepard’s trousers; slips on socking’d feet; gets splashed as Shepard cannonballs into the water with a shout loud enough to wake Zaeed’s grandmother from her grave.

“Shit—” He takes a deep breath and hits the freezing water, feels the tug of Shepard’s hands on his naked legs from below. He dives down, twisting away from the lithe body and slick fingers, grabbing his short hair for only a second before they surface. Shepard laughs and tugs at him and for one brief second, everything stills. A moment in time that he can’t quite believe is real and he has to wonder how the hell he, of all people in the galaxy, ended up skinny dipping with Commander Shepard.

And then the whistle blows and Shepard swears. “C-Sec! Come on!”

He pushes to the edge and they scramble out, ignoring the shouts of the officers running their way.

“Leave it!” Shepard tugs at his hand when he reaches for clothes. “No time! Let’s show them what two full moons look like!”

“You’re fucking nuts, Shepard.” Nevertheless, he follows and they streak through the Citadel toward the Normandy’s docking bay, running like hell’s own hounds are on the their heels.

He’s never felt more alive.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was so flipping fun to write, you have no idea.


End file.
